


girls are not meant to fight dirty

by sleeplessmiles



Series: anything for the crown [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Gen, Heist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5469152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/pseuds/sleeplessmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it turns out, the schematics from the Hydra Corp heist require an elusive cipher in order to be worth anything - a challenge the team readily embraces.</p><p>Unfortunately, they're not the only ones to have the idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	girls are not meant to fight dirty

**Author's Note:**

> WOW THIS GOT SUPER LONG AND PLOTTY.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this one, because I had an absolute blast with it. It follows the events of the previous section, so I'd recommend you read that one first. The T rating is... well, probably mostly for the swearing. There's a lot of swearing. Two relationships are tagged because... they're kind of both there? It's vague and hard to explain. Also there's another person drugged without their knowledge. 
> 
> Is that all? It feels like that's all. Have fuuuun!!

The thrill of a successful job is something that Jemma can never quite describe when prompted. How could she ever seek to capture that feeling of invincibility, that pounding rush in your ears? How could she put words to the inexorable delight of getting away with something so substantial, of feeling like you're in on a joke against the entire world?

But it's more than that, too.

Because how could she _possibly_ explain the nights that follow, when the alcohol flows and the lights are flashing and Skye gets all possessive - her heady presence constant all-encompassing, her energy tangible and contagious like nothing Jemma has ever known? She loves those nights like a precious secret cradled close to her chest. But they never really talk about it, and Jemma wouldn’t even know what to say if they ever _did._

So it all continues to transcend description, remaining elusive and just out of her reach.

But there's a sort of certainty to it, at any rate, so when she slowly creeps back into consciousness a few days after the Hydra job, Jemma knows that she’s in Skye’s bed before she even opens her eyes. Skye keeps these well-worn cotton sheets, the teal fabric all softened from years and years of use, and it’s comforting in a different way to the expensive set Jemma had splurged on herself. She likes it an awful lot – it’s nice. Familiar. Cozy.

Much like Skye herself.

Jemma’s lips tug upwards into a smile.

She’s also immediately aware that she’s alone – if Skye were still here, her warm weight would be pressed up against Jemma’s back, limbs flung carelessly all over the place in her slumber. Her absence is surprising, considering how much they’d had to drink the night before. Usually that sort of behaviour spells a long sleep-in for the hacker. Jemma momentarily frets that something’s amiss, before the heavy pull of sleep tugs at her consciousness again, welcoming her back into its embrace. Smiling to herself – and safe in the knowledge that Skye would let her know if anything significant has happened – she allows herself to succumb.

And then – 

The door bursts open, swinging open far enough to bang into the wall with a sickening crunch. Jemma sits bolt upright in alarm, her heart hammering against her ribcage.

_What the –?_

The question dies on her lips as soon as she registers who it is.

It’s very much not Skye.

‘Bloody ridiculous,’ Leopold Fitz mutters, grabbing for a pile of Skye’s laundry and immediately tossing articles of clothing aside, in a search for… something. Jemma blinks, shocked.

_You have got to be kidding me._

‘Okay, where is it?’

Jemma still says nothing, only gapes at him as he rummages through Skye’s stuff. He’s surprised her into speechlessness. This really doesn’t happen all that often.

Ever, actually.

‘I know you’ve got them,’ he continues, grumbling away as he flings the doors of Skye’s closet open. The action finally compels Jemma to speak, since she knows just how much the other girl values her closet space after so long living in a van.

‘Do you _honestly_ think that wise?’ she asks, sounding bored. 

‘Aaah!’ Fitz yelps at the unexpected voice, whirling around to face her. He blinks at her for a moment, taking her in. Then, slapping a hand over his eyes: ‘Aaah!’

And alright, that part is not _entirely_ his fault. She’d been sleeping in a very thin shirt, after all, and she’s most definitely not wearing a bra underneath. 

(Or pants, but she’s vowing to deal with one thing at a time.) 

Watching him stagger around the room with his eyes covered, annoyance coursing through her veins, she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

(Naturally, it’s a defensive accusation. This _is_ her and Fitz, after all.)

‘What are you doing in my room?’ she demands.

‘Your…? This isn’t your bloody room! You don’t even live here!’ he hisses, bumping face first into Skye’s open closet door. _‘Ow!’_

Running a hand through her mess of hair, she grimaces. It’s a good point. 

Even so. 

‘What, so you just burst in on Skye whenever you feel like it?’

‘Hey, she does it to me, alright?’ he protests, nose scrunching up in disgust beneath his still-covered eyes, and _ugh_ , for heaven’s sake – 

‘Oh, take your hands off your eyes, will you?’ she orders. ‘You look like a damned fool.’

He throws his hands off to send her a withering glare. ‘ _I_ look like a damned fool? What – what are you even wearing?’ He gestures wildly at her. ‘The concept of a shirt?

‘Fitz,’ she states, warning in her tone.

‘And, and your hair?’ 

‘Fitz.’

‘What?’ 

‘Get out.’

Something comes across his face then, a dangerous flash behind his eyes that Jemma immediately recognises as the stubborn look he gets when he’s being challenged. She feels that familiar surge of anger building up within her at the sight; she knows now what his answer will be before he even says it. 

‘No.’

She very rarely has the patience to deal with the sheer nerve of this infuriating boy – unless she’s actively winding him up, that is. She _certainly_ doesn’t have the patience this soon after waking up, with Skye nowhere to be seen. 

‘Get. Out.’ 

_‘No.’_

‘Fitz,’ she growls.

‘Not happening. I think you and I need to have a bit of a chat, actually.’ Then, he simply plonks himself down on the seat by Skye’s dresser. Just… _sits_ there, one foot coming up to rest on the opposite knee, and it’s immediately clear that he has no intention of leaving any time soon.

Jemma’s teeth are gritted together so hard that they nearly hurt, so she forces her jaw to relax, coaxes herself into a sense of calm.

Deep breaths.

Alright.

It’s okay.

He wants to play? Fine. She can play.

And, as always, she can beat his pasty arse into next week.

(It _is_ her profession, after all.)

She sits up a little straighter, feeling the thrill of competition spark within her.

‘So what did you get up to last night, Simmons?’ he asks, forced casualness in his voice. She has to actively concentrate to keep the surprise off her face at the use of her surname – it’s a rather impressive show of confidence, really, given that the epithet has largely lost its impact by this point. That ship has long since sailed, around the time he whimpered her given name into her neck as she made him come undone with her hands. _Only_ her hands.

Still. A daring move. She might even be a little impressed by it later on.

But not just now.

‘I went out,’ she replies simply, her eyes daring him to fight her on it. Sadly, he doesn’t break.

Yet.

He nods a little. ‘Is that so?’

Playing it nonchalant. How utterly, predictably Fitz – thinking he can outplay her at her own game. Jemma lifts her chin with a renewed sense of confidence.

‘It is.’

‘Huh. That’s interesting.’

‘Very much so.’

He leans back further on the seat. ‘I wonder if you perhaps went out earlier this week too.’

Jemma fights the urge to roll her eyes – he’s made it abundantly clear that this is about the Hydra op, and the blueprints he’d longed for so very much. Skye had mentioned that she _thought_ he knew it was them, but that he’s been staying silent because he didn’t have any concrete proof. 

Which means that Jemma still very much has the upper hand here.

‘Oh, we’ve been out loads lately, Skye and me,’ Jemma replies. _Time to turn up the heat,_ she thinks. One hand comes up to play at the ends of her hair, curling a single tendril around and around her finger. She watches as Fitz’s eyes follow the motion, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and finds she has to swallow back a grin. ‘You know, partying and whatnot.’

‘Interesting,’ he says, voice cracking a little now. She beams back indulgently.

‘It is, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, see, I wonder if you know much about the party that went on the other night at the Hilton. Big gala.’ He visibly gulps. ‘Did you, ah. Did you manage to get to that one?’

She pretends to think for a moment before sighing sadly. ‘I’m afraid I don’t much pay attention to location, Fitz. You know that.’

‘I really think you’d remember this one. All the Hydra Corp bigwigs were there.’ 

Jemma tilts her head to the side. ‘Actually, Skye _might_ have mentioned something of the sort…’

‘Alright, don’t play cute with me,’ he blurts out as he leans forward, breaking much earlier than she’d anticipated, and oh, look at _that_. He’s positively furious.

A slow smirk teases at her mouth.

‘Oh, I’m not playing _cute_ ,’ Jemma says, dropping her voice to that deathly sultry tone that never fails to get a reaction out of, well. Pretty much everyone. Fitz is no different, of course; she can see his pupils dilate a touch, his nostrils flaring with barely concealed want. Her lips pull upwards into a demure smile at the sight. 

Got him right where she wants him. 

‘Besides,’ she continues, carefully sliding the sheets off her body and allowing her legs to unfold. The look on his face alone is enough to make the interruption to her sleep-in well and truly worthwhile. ‘I’d hardly need to _play_ cute when it comes so naturally to me, would I?’

‘Cute’s not exactly the word I’d use for it,’ he mutters. But his eyes haven’t left the bare expanse of her legs, so she finds herself quirking an eyebrow mischievously.

This is almost too easy. 

Standing up fully, she stretches her arms high above her head, arching her back much more than is strictly necessary. Skye’s old shirt rides up her stomach at the motion, baring what she’s sure is quite a lot of her midriff and revealing the barely-there knickers she wears, and she allows her eyes to flutter shut, enjoying the feel of his eyes on him and the heady knowledge that she holds all of the power in this situation. When she opens her eyes again and allows her arms to drop, she revels in the pure want written into his features. His ears are flaming red.

Is this mean? This feels mean.

But then she remembers how he fucked them over in Atlanta that time, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like she’s even going far enough. 

‘Mmm, you’re right. That’s almost belittling, isn’t it? It needs to be something with an air of… superiority, wouldn’t you agree?’ 

As she slowly makes her way across the room to him, a predator stalking her prey, he raises himself out of the chair and backs up unconsciously. Drawing to a halt only a foot away, she smiles smugly up at him. 

 _Now for the killer blow._  

‘Something that says, “I’m better than you in every. Way. Imaginable.”’

Fitz gapes at her stupidly, something dark crossing his gaze as she laughs in delight.

‘I _knew_ it. I knew it was you,’ he accuses, voice low. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t work it out?’

She laughs some more, a deep sound in the back of her throat that has him going a little cross-eyed as she steps closer still. _Good_. ‘Oh, on the contrary; I was _counting_ on it, dear Fitzy.’ 

‘You were _not_ ,’ he breathes, all petulance.

‘We left enough breadcrumbs. Honestly, I’m a little disappointed you didn’t put it together sooner.’

He splutters a little, offended, and she can’t bring herself to wipe the humour from her expression – of _course_ he put it together immediately, he just didn’t want to go too early. And he knows that _she_ knows, and it’s for that exact reason that he can’t say anything.

Glorious.

‘You’re diabolical, you know that? The whole bloody lot of you are, but you especially.’

She lets her mouth drop open at that, watching as his eyes trace the lines of her lips hungrily. ‘So you concede, then? You concede that I’m superior at my craft – at _our_ craft.’

 _That_ snaps him out of it.

‘I’d rather die than admit to such rubbish.’

Jemma scoffs. ‘No need to be so dramatic.’

‘I’ll be as dramatic as I want, thanks.’

‘What are you, twelve?’

He quirks an eyebrow, going for seductive but missing terribly. ‘You _know_ that’s not true.’

She mirrors the expression, walking her hands down his chest until she grabs him juuust…

He jumps.

‘Mmm. Do I, though?’ 

‘You’re evil. You’re an evil bloody witch.’

Her voice is positively _biting_ , face crowding his, when she retaliates. ‘You want to try that again?’

‘You’ve called me worse,’ he breathes.

‘Ah,’ she exhales against his lips. ‘So you’d like _me_ to call you worse then?’

‘Oh _God_ yeah.’

‘Mm, well. I can give that to you, Fitzy.’ Pulling back only slightly, she drops her gaze to his lips. He whimpers. ‘All you have to do is say it,’ she murmurs.

‘Say what?’

‘Tell me I’m better than you. Say it.’

She leans in to blow a breath against his earlobe and –

The door opens.

Shit.

Skye. 

Shooting him a vaguely apologetic look, Jemma grabs his wrist and in one fluid motion – _thank you, May_ – she has his arm twisted behind his back and is shoving him facefirst into the wall. Roughly.

‘ _Ow!_ What the f-’

‘ – What the hell? I was only gone for like five minutes.’ Skye, remarkably put together and collected given the hour, stands there with her arms folded and her eyes fiery. She looks Fitz up and down, frowning. ‘The fuck did you even _come_ from?’

‘You!’ Fitz accuses at Skye, half his face still smooshed against the wall. Rolling her eyes, Jemma releases him from her hold, watching as he shakes himself off and rounds on Skye. She gives him what is perhaps the most dismissive expression Jemma’s ever seen.

‘Uh, yeah? Me. Hi.’ 

‘No, I mean – I _knew_ it was you!’ 

It’s Skye’s turn to roll her eyes now, recognition dawning. 

‘Of course it was me, genius.’

That throws him off. ‘Wh- you’re admitting it.’

Skye shrugs.

‘You literally told me how bad you guys wanted the plans. What the hell did you expect?’

He gapes, apparently deeply offended by this. ‘We, are _roommates_. Does that mean nothing to you?’

Skye snorts. ‘Wake up, Leopold. We’re goddamn rivals! And besides. You stole my snacks.’

There’s a moment of stillness then, Skye watching him with raised eyebrows and Fitz’s mouth opening and closing noiselessly, and Jemma has to try not to break it with the laugh that’s threatening.

‘I stole your snacks, so you stole my _million dollar schematics_?’ he bellows. 

‘Shut up, asshole – do you actually want the neighbours to know we’re criminals? Anyway.’ A teasing grin creeps across her face. ‘Your words, not mine.’ 

‘This is unbelievable. _Un_ believable.’ 

‘Aw. Cheer up, Mr. Grumpy Gills.’

He points at her in warning. ‘Don’t.’

‘You snooze you lose.’

‘If you don’t – ’ 

‘ – Look, as much as I’m _super_ digging this gloating thing, I do kinda really need to talk to Jem, so if you could just do us a favour and fuck right off – ’

‘ – We’re not done here.’

‘We sure as shit are!’ Skye replies cheerily, shoving him towards the door. 

‘There _will_ be retaliation,’ he swears as he goes. He points first at Skye and then at Jemma. ‘Mark my words. Swift! Swift retaliation.’

Jemma runs a hand through her hair, bored. ‘And we’re positively trembling in our boots at the prospect,’ she says dryly.

‘Oh, you think you’re sooo – ’

‘Fitz, I swear to God if you don’t leave _right now_ I’m going to put you in a fucking headlock.’

With one final shove, Skye gets him out of the room and manages to shut the door on him.

‘Well you know what? The snacks were terrible!’ he yells.

‘Guess they match your face!’ she yells back. When there’s no further response, she turns back to Jemma. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s not a problem.’

She pins Jemma with a curious look, hands on her hips now.

‘Yeah, actually. About that. You guys weren’t gonna do it on my bed, right? Or, like.’ She appraises the room warily, suppressing a shudder. ‘Against my wall?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Whatever. Just not near my closet, alright? That’s fucking sacred.’

‘I would _never_ ,’ Jemma swears, even though she’d maybe entertained the possibility for a moment there, just briefly, right in the heat of things…

But, no.

Never.

Skye pads further into the room, grabbing her phone from where it’s sitting on the floor next to the power socket. ‘The fuck’s up with you two, anyway?’ she asks, scrolling through something on the small screen.

‘What do you mean?’ Jemma shoots back – way too quickly to be natural, so she casually sits down on the bed and tucks a leg under her body, trying to compensate. But Skye just shrugs, not looking up. 

‘I don’t know. You’re just all up in each other’s faces lately. Like, more than usual.’

Shit. 

The thing is, Skye’s not wrong. There’s been a real restlessness to Jemma lately, a constant uneasiness, and it’s not as though this is a new thing – it’s been there for as long as she can remember, after all – but it’s hit fever pitch, dancing beneath her skin and propelling her into constant motion. And Fitz is just so _easy,_ and right there.

She tries not to examine it too closely most days. Call it a hobby. 

Rolling her neck to work out the kinks there, she looks across at Skye with a sly look, her eyebrows raised lasciviously. ‘Well. You know how I get post-job.’

 _That_ has Skye glancing up, cheeky grin firmly in place. 

‘I _do_ know that,’ she says coyly. Then she seems to shake herself, remembering something. ‘Anyways! Get dressed. We got a call.’

Jemma’s eyes widen, every inch of her suddenly on alert.

They got a call?

A call this soon after a job was almost unheard of – in fact, it had never once happened since she’d joined this team.

 _Shit._ Did they fuck up?

Skye picks up the top Jemma had worn last night when they went out – a sheer, flimsy black thing that’s much more deserving of Fitz’s “concept of a shirt” label – and tosses it over to her.

‘May?’ Jemma prompts, catching the shirt and sliding effortlessly back into business mode. She quickly pads around to the other side of the bed to search for her bra and jeans.

Skye opens her mouth to answer, but then stops herself; she walks instead to the door and, bringing her forearm up to head level, she thumps three times on the door. _Hard._ There’s an instant groan of pain and a string of curses from the other side. Jemma bites her lip to hold back her sudden vicious grin.

_Idiot._

‘Was that necessary?’ comes Fitz’s muffled whine. 

‘You have million dollar tech that could listen in, moron!’ Skye calls.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he grumbles, the sound becoming quieter as he moves further away.

‘Anyway! Where were we?’

‘May,’ Jemma reminds her.

‘Oh, yeah. Better rocket; something’s come up.’

‘About the…’ _Hydra blueprints?_ she mouths. But Skye only shrugs.

‘Dunno. She was pretty quiet about the whole thing. Like, weirdly quiet.’

‘Okay,’ Jemma says, drawing out the _ay_. She’s still feeling distinctly tense about it all – it’s much too early for May to be recalling them unless something’s gone horribly wrong, and she really can’t imagine what the issue could be. Everything had seemed perfect when they’d all parted ways. 

_Surely I haven’t fucked this up._

She frowns, deep in thought. 

‘A subdued sort of quiet?’ she presses. ‘Angry, perhaps? Sad?’

Skye’s pulling a shirt on, so her voice is muffled by fabric when she replies. ‘We’re not analysing her silence, weirdo.’

‘Yes, but wouldn’t it be prudent to know what we’re walking into?’

She finishes tugging the shirt on, pinning Jemma with a look. ‘It’s _May_.’

‘Exactly,’ Jemma mutters darkly. But Skye only waves her off, amused. 

‘Just put some pants on and we’ll go find out.’

Tugging on her skinny jeans and then slipping on her bra, Jemma gets caught up in admiring her friend for a moment. Skye’s always kind of chaotic as she goes through the motions, seemingly no logic to the order in which she does her make-up and hair. It’s rather captivating, really.

After pulling last night’s shirt back on, she wanders over to stand beside Skye at the dresser and reaches absently for the dry shampoo.

‘You’re awfully peppy this morning,’ she observes eventually, combing out her hair. Skye meets her eyes in their shared reflection. ‘You’re usually an utter zombie this early.’ 

‘I know, right?’ She waggles her eyebrows. ‘Clearly _somebody_ didn’t get me drunk enough.’

Jemma can’t help but grin at that. ‘Oh, I think you were plenty inebriated.’ 

‘Ugh, don’t remind me. How’s the hangover?’ 

She narrows her eyes. ‘I don’t get _hungover_ , I simply get – ’

‘ – tired, yeah yeah. I know.’

‘I prefer “sleepy,” if you don’t mind. Much cuter.’ 

Skye snorts. ‘Wouldn’t want to screw up your whole aesthetic.’ 

Feeling playful, Jemma replies by poking her tongue out. Skye mirrors the action and they both dissolve into giggles.

‘My mouth _does_ taste like a dehydrated rubbish bin, however,’ Jemma continues as she begins to apply a coat of mascara. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do.

‘Hmm. Speaking from experience there, Dr. Simmons?’

Her jaw drops open in faux offense, hip jutting out to bump against Skye’s. ‘You swore that you’d never mention Monaco again. You _promised_.’ 

‘Did I mention it?’ Skye asks innocently, hipchecking Jemma right back. Then she turns back to the mirror and fluffs her hair a bit more. ‘Oh, hey, speaking of… you should get Fitz to make one of those hangover cures he’s always crapping on about.’

Jemma raises an eyebrow.

Hmm. Tempting.

Except…

‘You really think he’s going to help me after,’ she waves a hand vaguely in the air, ‘everything?’

But Skye just smirks. 

‘See, and here _I_ thought men exist to do Jemma Simmons’ bidding.’ 

_An excellent point._

Smirking now herself, Jemma wanders over to the door. 

‘Oh Fiiiitz…’

 

 

-

-

 

 

Around half an hour – and one grumpily concocted hangover cure – later, Jemma and Skye make their way into one of May’s dingy old apartments downtown. They haven’t ever met here before and it really shows; the place is extremely dilapidated, and has quite clearly not been lived in for some time. The fact that they’re meeting here rather than at one of their usual places puts Jemma even more on edge.

_You don’t know anything yet. Breathe. Perhaps it’s fine after all._

The woman herself isn’t here yet, which is not out of the ordinary, but Jemma’s relieved to see that the rest of the team is. Kara’s reclining over on the weather-beaten couch in the living area, and if it weren’t for her slight nod in their direction, Jemma would think the woman is asleep.

(Honestly, she’s just glad to see her actually _resting_ for once. Jemma isn’t sure she’s ever seen Kara in any state other than wakefulness. It’s disconcerting.)

Bobbi’s over in the kitchen, and she seems to be making herself a sandwich. Something like that, anyway. Jemma wouldn’t know; her blonde teammate is wearing her biking leathers today, so it’s understandably difficult to concentrate on anything else that’s happening. 

‘You kids do anything fun last night?’ Bobbi asks, rifling around in the cupboard. Skye skips over in pursuit of food.

‘ _We,_ went out clubbing,’ she announces in a posh, completely terrible English accent. Jemma makes a face.

 _Awful._  

‘We did go clubbing, yes.’

Bobbi nods. ‘Nice. And you had run-ins with the cops how many times?’

‘Hey!’ Skye whines. ‘It was a clean night, asshole.’ 

‘Uh huh,’ Bobbi says, dubious. She glances across at Jemma.

‘Just the three,’ Jemma provides diplomatically. Skye turns betrayed eyes onto her, pointing in warning. 

‘That third time wasn’t even my fault and you know it.’

Okay, fair.

‘Two, then,’ she concedes. ‘On a technicality.’

Bobbi seems impressed. ‘Wow, that _was_ quiet. You weren’t kidding.’

‘Eh,’ Skye shrugs, inspecting a chunk of her hair for split ends. ‘Sometimes I like to mix it up. Wild nights get kind of repetitive, you know?’

‘… You were still wicked hungover, huh.’

‘Literally could not stand up yesterday.’

Leaving the two women to catch up, Jemma wanders over to where Kara is stretched out, looking distinctly worse for wear. As she approaches, Kara levers herself upright and moves her legs so that Jemma can sit down.

‘Are you alright? You look awful.’

‘Took the Red Eye in from Madrid,’ Kara replies, voice croaky. ‘And thanks so much for that. Really. Because you’re just so fresh and put together.’ 

‘You _know_ that’s not what I meant,’ Jemma murmurs, stifling a yawn and dropping her head down to rest on Kara’s shoulder while they wait. Kara reaches over to pat her knee comfortingly. 

‘I know, English. I know.’

They watch in mutual silence as Skye hops up onto the bench next to Bobbi, chatting away and swinging her legs while Bobbi continues assembling her sandwich. 

‘Worried?' Kara asks eventually. Jemma crinkles her nose a touch.

‘Not as such. A little uneasy, perhaps – it’s… she never calls this soon. Ever. I just hope that…’ she sighs, cutting herself off. No use getting too worried before they know anything concrete, she reminds herself. So instead, she musters a weak smile. ‘But I’m sure it’s nothing. You?’

Kara just makes a noncommittal humming sound by way of response. 

‘Did you speak to her?’

‘Just quickly. She did sound kind of strained.’ 

‘I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. And I don’t look _that_ bad,’ Jemma adds after a pause, voice lighter and teasing. Kara huffs out a laugh. 

‘You look fine. I would’ve guessed just the one brush with the law.’

Jemma grins tiredly. ‘Aww, how sweet.’

Then Kara pushes the side of Jemma’s shirt collar aside, raising her eyebrows. Jemma doesn’t even need to look to know what her friend’s expression is about – she remembers precisely what’s there, and how she acquired the marks. In vivid detail. 

‘Those, however...’

‘Oh, you know me. I never kiss and tell,’ Jemma simpers. 

Kara snorts. ‘Like you even need to.’ She raises her voice over the other two. ‘On a _completely_ unrelated note: you get lucky last night, Skye?’

Jemma slaps at her leg.

Skye grins around an overloaded mouthful of food. ‘Hey, I was there with the hottest person in the place. I was already lucky.’

‘Smooth,’ Jemma says, rolling her eyes. 

‘Thanks babe.’

Then the front door slams open, May making an impressive entrance as per usual, and –

Oh _shit._

Everybody’s on their feet straight away, the lightness from moments earlier gone instantly as they all hurry over to her.

‘Problem with the schematics,’ May grits out, dragging her leg uselessly behind her in a painful-looking limp. Her jacket’s ripped; there’s a sizable bloodstain on one arm, and a murderous look in her eye.

‘Jesus Christ.’

_‘Shit.’_

‘What happened?’ 

Jemma pushes past everyone and forces a calm she doesn’t feel at all. ‘Let me look.’

‘It’s fine,’ May insists, waving them off.

 _‘May.’_ The steely command in Jemma’s voice catches everyone off-guard – including Jemma herself. She swallows hard. ‘Please.’ 

May grits her teeth tighter, almost impossibly so, before finally relenting, a stiff nod the one thing denoting the monumental concession. Limping over to the couch, only allowing Jemma to help minimally, she flops down and shucks her jacket as Jemma rolls up her bloodied jeans leg. The other three crowd around. 

‘ _Shit_ ,’ Bobbi breathes, just as the denim rolls up enough to reveal an alarmingly deep bullet graze above May’s ankle. ‘I knew I should’ve gone with you.’

Skye whips around to face her, her blood running hot as it always does in these situations.

‘Well why didn’t you?’

‘Because I asked her not to,’ May cuts in, stopping Skye from getting too confrontational. It works a little; Skye runs her hands through her hair as she steps away, trying to calm herself.

For her part, Jemma leans in to inspect the graze, wincing at what she sees there.

‘Bobbi, could you – ’

‘First aid kit? On it.’

‘I’ll grab the whiskey,’ Kara adds. May shoots her a grateful look. Once they’ve hurried off on their various tasks, Jemma moves to look at the wound on May’s arm, and – 

Oh, come on. Not again.

‘You have _got_ to stop stitching yourself up,’ she chides. ‘You’re absolute rubbish at it.’

‘Thanks,’ May says dryly.

‘I’m serious, May. It’s appropriately terrifying, I’ll hand you that, but you’re only inflicting further damage.’

‘Forgive me for trying to keep the blood inside my body a bit longer.’

‘Perhaps the answer to that is to take back-up to these meets?’ Jemma asks, raising an eyebrow. At the lack of response, she sighs. ‘We’re a team, May. It’s what we’re here for.’

Predictably, the older woman says nothing. She doesn’t argue it, though, so Jemma’s going to go right ahead and claim that as a victory.

‘Just do what you have to,’ she murmurs eventually. Jemma shoots her a wry smile.

‘I’m not even a medical doctor, you know.’

‘Never stopped you before.’

They share a tight smile until Bobbi returns with the med kit, and as Jemma starts rifling through for sutures, she thinks of how May had specifically asked Bobbi to not accompany her.

‘You suspected something?’ she asks quietly, glancing up through her lashes at May. May tenses her lips for a moment, her gaze growing dark.

‘Yes.’

‘And you were correct?’

She huffs out a bitter laugh. ‘I was something.’

Kara comes back with the whiskey and a couple of glasses, but May foregoes those, simply grabbing the bottle and taking a deep swig. Skye sits down beside her, leaning forward.

‘Alright. Spill.’ 

May sighs. ‘Turns out Hydra are into a lot more than we thought.’

‘Define “a lot more,”’ Bobbi states, taking over the pacing from Skye. May shrugs, grimacing as Jemma sticks in the needle. She waves off the mumbled apology. 

‘It’s a front for a larger organisation. That’s all I know.’ 

Skye’s unimpressed. ‘So how the hell does _that_ lead to,’ she waves a hand in May’s general direction, ‘ _this_?’

‘The schematics are written in some sort of code. They’re worthless. Dealers knew it, got pissed.’ 

‘So they shot you?’ Kara asks, looking lost. ‘That doesn’t make any sense. Why would they fuck up potential future business?’

‘They wouldn’t. It wasn’t them.’

Jemma’s hands pause at the suturing.

 _What?_  

‘Hydra intercepted,’ Bobbi finishes knowingly. May nods and they all sit with that for a moment, mulling over it in the silence. Jemma continues stitching away dutifully until the silence becomes too much for her.

‘Well!’ she begins. ‘Luckily, I excel at solving puzzles. If you could just give me a few hours with the blueprints…’ 

Trailing off, she looks up to find everyone staring at her. She fidgets uncomfortably. 

‘What? You know how I love puzzles.’

Skye drops her head back against the back of the couch, groaning loudly. ‘No you don’t.’

‘I _love_ puzzles.’

‘Uh, you love _beating_ puzzles. You love winning.’

Jemma sniffs. ‘What’s your point?’

‘Nothing, babe,’ Skye sighs. ‘Carry on.’

But May only looks vaguely amused. ‘You two done?’        

‘Yes,’ Jemma says quietly, moving down to tend to May’s ankle.

‘Anyway, Hydra’s got the cipher.’ 

‘Let me guess,’ Kara deadpans. ‘Top level security at an impossible-to-breach facility?’ 

May shakes her head. ‘Pretty much the same job as the last one. Hydra function this weekend, seduction as distraction, crack the safe. Get in, get out.’

There’s another stunned silence. Wordlessly, Kara reaches for the whiskey and takes a swig.

‘That’s… really easy,’ Bobbi observes, frowning. ‘We’d barely have to plan at all. Almost like it was… oh _shit._ ’ She looks up at them. ‘Like it was designed for us specifically.’ 

‘They’re trying to lure _us_ out?’ Skye asks incredulously. Kara shrugs as she considers it.

‘Last heist could’ve been reconnaissance – watching how we do things without interfering – ’

‘ – so that they can stop us the next time,’ Jemma breathes, understanding suddenly.

‘And there has to be a next time, since we need the cipher to make any of this worth shit,’ Skye finishes. ‘They know we want the cash.’

Defeated, Bobbi sits down. ‘So what you’re saying is they’ve dictated _everything_ we’ve done this whole time.’

‘Basically.’

_Wait._

Jemma’s hands still over the sutures as she realises. Skye meets her gaze significantly, and she knows with sudden clarity that they’re both thinking the same thing.

Fitz knew about the blueprints before any of them.

_Could he have…?_

‘Fitz couldn’t have known,’ Jemma begins uncertainly. She doesn’t particularly want to be defending him, but there’s no way he’d drop them in a situation like this. Surely.

Surely.

Skye agrees. 

‘Yeah, no. That boy didn’t know shit.’ She shakes her head. ‘No way.’

‘So, wait: who was it a trap for then?’ Kara asks, frowning intently. ‘If the guys were the ones who found out about the schematics… it’s a trap for _them_ , right?’

‘Unless they somehow knew Fitz would leak it to you two,’ Bobbi suggests. She shakes her head in disbelief, reaching for the whiskey herself now.

 _‘Shit.’_  

‘So someone else on their team maybe? How the fuck did Fitz find out, anyway?’ Skye asks.

‘Doesn’t matter anymore,’ May cuts in, her voice definitive. ‘It’s us now. Focus on that.’ 

Kara shifts so that she’s leaning forward. ‘So. This is 100% a trap,’ she begins.

‘Yep,’ Skye agrees, popping the _p_ sound. ‘But! At the same time, they know I have to verify it’s even there before we go in. Which means…’ 

‘Which means they’ll have to have the cipher there.’

‘Or good replica, but that’s a lot of effort. Like, a _lot._ ’

Jemma sits back, cleaning the blood off her hands with a cloth. ‘So what you’re saying is that it’s most likely a trap, but there could be some sort of gain from it. Correct?’

‘Significant gain,’ May says, grabbing the whiskey back from Bobbi. Everyone else looks to her, curiously awaiting some sort of explanation. When she’s not forthcoming, Skye leans forward.

‘Um. May?’ 

May takes a lengthy sip before elaborating. ‘With the cipher? The value of the schematics quadruples.’

Holy _shit._  

It…

‘Are you kidding me?’ Skye blurts out. 

‘Well, I’m in,’ Kara declares.

‘Are you actually fucking kidding me?’ 

‘Me too,’ Bobbi adds. ‘Not for the money though. More just to make a point.’  

‘Same here.’

‘Like. For real, are you _shitting_ me right now? You are, aren’t you.’

‘Skye,’ Jemma chides. 

‘What?’ 

‘I’m not “shitting you right now,”’ May says, sounding tired all of a sudden. ‘That’s what my contact told me.’

‘Before Hydra shot you,’ Bobbi points out helpfully.

‘Gee, thanks Bob.’

‘Welcome, Kar.’

May is quiet for a moment, staring at the whiskey bottle and looking troubled. ‘I can’t ask any of you to willingly walk into a trap.’

‘And yet here we are,’ Bobbi shoots back. Everyone else nods and smiles, looking at May eagerly. For her part, she just seems completely taken aback by the enthusiasm – almost overwhelmed, really – so Jemma decides to give her an out. She slaps her hands onto her thighs.

‘So!’ she says brightly. ‘What are our assignments?’

‘You’re working the floor again.’

Her face falls, even as Skye cracks a grin.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Bobbi too, this time.’

Now _that_ makes her bristle. ‘I’m more than capable of handling – ’ 

‘Not looking for a fight, Simmons. Three days to plan the heist. We stick to the same jobs.’ May pins Jemma with a strange look. ‘Thought you loved this stuff.’ 

Jemma hesitates. ‘Well… yes. But, see, technically this is the same job – ’

‘Which means she’s still technically a loser!’ Skye crows. Jemma glares daggers across at her. The hacker just pokes her tongue out.

‘It’s a function for Von Strucker,’ May continues, choosing to ignore the youngest members of the team for the time being. ‘Some anniversary thing. Von Strucker will be your mark.’

Jemma’s jaw drops at the same time that Skye bursts out laughing.

‘ _Baron_ Von Strucker?’ she clarifies over Skye’s cackles. ‘You don’t want me to seduce that old – old _geezer_?’

‘No – ’ 

‘ – Thank you – ’ 

‘ – It’s his kid.’

Skye’s laughter redoubles. Even Kara, tired as she is, is laughing now.

‘A _kid?_ ’ Jemma squeaks, horrified. May rolls her eyes. 

‘College-aged, Simmons.’

‘You couldn’t have led with that?’ she whines. 

May raises her eyebrows, amused. Skye has progressed to the silent, red-faced stage of hysterical laughter.

‘You people are a mess,’ Bobbi observes. The effect is somewhat undermined by the way she grabs for the whiskey, at 10am on a weekday, but no one comments on it. Mostly because they’re laughing too hard.

Jemma raises her hand.

‘Ah, quick question: won’t Bakshi have told people? Or, you know, be present himself?’

Bobbi snorts. ‘Dude got caught with his pants literally around his ankles. He’s not gonna be advertising it.’

‘She’s right,’ Kara chimes in. ‘Too much pride. He won’t show.’

‘If you’re sure.’

Kara’s eyes gleam cheekily. ‘Eh. I’m like, 50/50.’ 

‘Give me that,’ Jemma mutters, snatching at the whiskey bottle and taking a generous swig. Kara laughs, patting her shoulder sympathetically as she wanders out towards the kitchen.

‘What a disaster. Anything _else_ I should know?’ 

May smirks as she sits back more comfortably on the couch. ‘Yeah. Might want to cover up your neck.’

Jemma’s free hand snakes up to her neck straight away.

‘My…?’

Oh.

Oh no.

_Did Melinda May just tell me to cover up my hickeys?_

Bobbi pokes at one with an index finger, an open-mouthed grin on her face, but Jemma slaps her hand away. Finally calming down to the point of shaky laugh-groans, Skye wraps an arm over Jemma’s shoulders, tugging her into her side despite Jemma’s weak protests.

‘Aw, come on.’

‘No. You’re too mean,’ she sulks.

‘I’m mean for laughing? Seriously? You know what _mean_ is?’

‘Don’t you dare,’ Jemma warns, but it’s too late. Skye’s already holding up an imaginary microphone, putting on a TV announcer’s voice.

‘The thrilling saga continues in _Jemma Got Trashed And Lost A Bet 2: The Seduction._ ’ 

‘She’s gonna kill you in your sleep one day,’ Kara calls from the kitchen. ‘Better watch your back.’

Skye puts a hand over her heart, scandalised. ‘Jemma would _never._ ’

Bobbi snorts into the whiskey. 

May just sighs.

 

 

-

-

 

 

Getting ready for this job’s a little different for Bobbi and Jemma than it is for the others on the actual day, so the two of them spend the afternoon at Bobbi’s apartment making themselves presentable. By the end of it, Bobbi looks completely and utterly devastating, of course – all blue silk and flowing golden locks and red lips and smoky eyes. It’s not often that Jemma feels self-conscious in her own skin these days, but people like Bobbi make it difficult sometimes. Her own baby pink gown is stunning, and she knows she looks super hot too, but even so. 

She’s in good company, at any rate.

‘Hey,’ Bobbi says after a while, elongating the word, ‘you and Skye should just get the hell outta dodge after this one.’

Jemma stills at the toxin inventory she’s carrying out. Glancing up, she finds Bobbi’s piercing gaze fixed upon her. It’s pretty unnerving.

‘You think so?’ 

‘Yeah, sure!’ She juts out a hip. ‘You need a vacation... Skye thinks her entire life is a vacation, so she’d definitely be up for it. It’s a win/win.’

They _do_ already spend the majority of their downtime together, when they’re meant to be laying low after a job. They’re meant to be laying low separately, really, but Skye and Jemma have sort of been flouting that one for a while and no one’s really brought it up, so they’re not about to stop.

Actually, come to think of it, they spend pretty much the rest of their time together too.

Huh. 

Bobbi pushes at Jemma’s shoulder. ‘Come on, a bit of drunken debauchery somewhere else for once. It’ll be great!’

The hesitation must be written pretty plainly across Jemma’s face though, because Bobbi gentles her voice. 

‘You just seem kind of… I don’t know. Tightly wound lately.’ 

_Because it’s been so long since I stayed in the one spot, with the same people. It feels too right and I’m scared. I’m afraid I’ll mess it up. I’m afraid I’ll ruin it by trying to make it last._

Jemma exhales heavily.

‘Just stressed about the job,’ she tells her with a tight smile.

Bobbi narrows her eyes, and it’s clear that Jemma hasn’t fooled her in the slightest. Blessedly, however, she decides to drop it, her face lighting up as she notices what Jemma’s holding.

‘Oooh! You’re wearing the poison-tipped hair pins?’

‘Sure am. New formula, too.’ Jemma shrugs a shoulder. ‘Got to find some way to keep them guessing.’ 

Bobbi grins, all lopsided and pleased.                           

‘Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a fucked up concept of fun, Jems?’

‘You’d be surprised,’ she mutters darkly. Laughing that deep belly-laugh Jemma loves so much, Bobbi bumps their shoulders together. 

‘Alright, short stuff. Want me to do your hair up in that twisty bun thing you like so much?’

‘That would be wonderful, thank you. Oh, although be sure not to touch the tips of the pins,’ she instructs. Bobbi raises a brow. 

‘Do I even want to know?’

‘Not a chance.’

 

 

-

-

 

 

Jemma hadn’t actually been exaggerating when she’d spoken to Fitz earlier in the week – she really _doesn’t_ pay all that much attention to the places anymore. Not the jobs where she’s working the floor, anyway. The settings all blur together after a while, their opulence and extravagance overlapping and coalescing in her memory until it becomes difficult to parse them out.

It’s the people that set the jobs apart, for Jemma. The Von Strucker function is no different.

She wanders the bustling ballroom with her trademark bored smile, a silent challenge issued to any and all she makes eye contact with: _entertain me_. As she goes, however, she makes note of the people. The middle-aged married woman already too tipsy and flirting up a storm; the semi-balding man with the toothy, lecherous smile; the reluctant family members; the woman around her own age who looks like she’d rather be quite literally on fire than at this function.

 _They’re_ what Jemma remembers. Not “that one op at the Hilton,” but “that one op where the man with the loud tie kept sloshing champagne all over people.” 

The people in this highbrow world can be so boring, but that’s what makes them so _fascinating._ It’s like being at a zoo. 

(She probably shouldn’t say that last bit out loud.)

It’s been around an hour of wandering aimlessly – waiting for her mark but also trying to avoid getting ensconced in some dreadfully boring conversation – when there’s a flurry of activity across the comms.

Unfortunately, it’s not the good kind. 

‘Oh, fuck. _Fuck._ ’

‘What is it?’ comes Kara’s voice, brusque yet also concerned. Then: ‘oh, you have _got_ to be fucking kidding me.’

‘Anyone wanna share with the class?’ Bobbi mutters around her careful smile.

‘The guys are here.’

There’s a collective irritated sigh across the line. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Jemma scans the room again, trying not to let her disappointment show.

 _How on earth would they have known?? Was the trap for the boys after all?_  

‘Skye?’ May asks finally, her barely contained annoyance broadcast clear as day. Never a good sign this early on in a sting. 

‘Hey, don’t look at me. I’m not the one canoodling with the weediest member of our opposition.’

Forgetting herself, Jemma gapes. 

‘Excuse me?’ she demands through clenched teeth.

‘Hey, no judgement. You do you. Or, you know. _Not_ you.’

‘You and I quite literally spent the previous night together and you think I… _canoodled_ with Fitz the very next morning?

‘I _really_ try not to think about the two of you fucking that much – ’

‘ – And why’s that, Skye?’ Jemma exclaims, shooting a dirty look at a nearby server who’d been ogling her chest. She turns her back to his pervy gaze. ‘Jealous?’

‘Uh, again, we literally spent the previous night – ’ 

‘Does this have to happen right now?’ Kara whines. ‘Can we maybe simmer the tension down to a tolerable level and focus on the problem at hand here?’ 

‘It’s not – ’

 _‘English.’_

‘Fine.’ She huffs a sigh, regrouping. ‘It doesn’t matter how they found out, anyway. They’re here now. We’ll simply have to adjust.’

‘Have we considered that maybe they don’t even know we’re here?’ Bobbi asks.

Almost as though the universe personally has it out for her (a ludicrous notion, of course), Jemma spots Fitz across the room at that very moment – all tuxed up, hands in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels somewhat uncomfortably.

Great. No, just great.

When he spots her looking, he raises both eyebrows at her, as if challenging her to say something. She only rolls her eyes, ignoring him as he slips away into the crowd.

‘Oh, they know,’ she confirms.

‘Fabulous.’ 

‘Should I take any of them out?’ Kara muses aloud.

Jemma blinks. She’s really never heard Kara contemplate a hit so seriously before. 

‘Ah?’

‘Yikes,’ Skye says. She’s mostly just laughing. ‘Okay, no, wait. Just out of curiosity: who? Who would you pick to knock off?’

‘Get Hunter,’ Bobbi mutters. 

‘Well, Fitz is the easy target.’

‘Or Hunter.’

‘Fitz’d be pretty obvious though, wouldn’t he?’ Jemma asks, probably a little _too_ worriedly. But come on. If Fitz is fair game, _she_ becomes fair game right back.

Not that they’re equivalent in any way. That’s absurd.

She’s just saying.

‘Well, sure,’ Kara concedes. ‘But it’d be harder to get at any of the others.’

‘Eh, I don’t know. Hunter’s generally pretty exposed.’

‘Bob?’ 

‘Yeah, I know,’ Bobbi sighs, dejected.

‘Don’t worry about the guys,’ May cuts in. ‘Stick to the plan.’

Everyone quiets immediately; May doesn’t speak much during ops, choosing instead to just listen to the general banter, so when she speaks up? You listen.

‘Okay, I’m at the kitchens,’ Kara says eventually. ‘May?’

‘Close.’ 

‘How’s it looking?’ 

She hesitates before answering. ‘Clear. _Too_ clear. Something’s not right.’

‘I agree. Your call.’

They’re all tense for a moment as May evaluates, until she just sighs. ‘Proceed.’

‘Alright. Go team.’

There’s a long pause before Skye speaks up again.

‘Why do you want to knock someone off so bad, anyway?’

‘I took the Red Eye flight,’ Kara grumbles, as though that explains it. 

‘… Kar, that was three days ago.’ 

‘Okay, you know what? I don’t need this.’

‘Palamas,’ May warns.                                                                 

A server walks past Jemma with a plate loaded full of – ooh! Those really nice little parmesan round things! It’s been an _age_. Sending a mental word of thanks to the Von Struckers, Jemma lunges across to stop the server in his tracks. 

Elegantly, of course.

‘Oh, sneaky!’ Skye exclaims. ‘They’ve piggybacked doctored footage onto the current feed. Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky.’

‘Wow. Either they got a new tech guy or Hunter’s actually picked up a book.’

Bobbi snorts. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. As long as YouTube exists, he’s not going to read a goddamn book.’

‘Is he seriously _still_ their tech guy?’ Kara asks. ‘He doesn’t know shit about computers.’

‘Hey, it works for us.’ 

‘Yeah, but still. It’s a little tragic. Skye?’

There’s the tapping of keys, and then a beep. 

‘You’re all set,’ Skye says. ‘Go get ‘em, Annie Oakley.’ 

‘Thanks,’ Kara replies sarcastically, before sighing. ‘Man, I miss bank heists. Remember bank heists?

‘I do, in fact, remember bank heists.’

‘Those were the days,’ Kara sighs wistfully.

‘I see Fitz,’ Bobbi cuts in. ‘I’ll deal with him.’

Jemma starts at that, thinking back over their conversation.

‘Ah, just to be clear, when you say _deal_ – ’ 

‘No one’s gonna take out your fuck buddy, Jem. Relax.’

‘The bet is _over_ , Skye,’ she growls. But she’s distracted from the response by Bobbi making her move.

Loudly.

‘Oh. My. God. Leopold?’ her friend calls out, voice becoming higher in pitch and growing in volume as she goes. Half of the room turns to gape at the commotion. ‘Is that _really_ you? Oh my God.’

‘Uhhh,’ Fitz hesitates, and Jemma’s a few yards away but even she can see how his shoulders have stiffened. He turns and grins uneasily at his conversation partner, torn; with so many eyes on him, he’ll have to play along if he doesn’t want his cover to be blown. 

It’s genius. Jemma could just about kiss Bobbi – hell, she probably would if this were any other op. 

(Bummer.)

‘It _is_ you!’ Bobbi shrieks now, throwing her arms up comically. She darts across the room towards him, pushing past other patrons as she goes. 

‘Barbara,’ Fitz manages, jaw tightly clenched. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’ 

‘Oh. My. _God._ Can you even believe this? This is _such_ a coincidence!’ She turns to the guy Fitz is talking to and lightly slaps his chest. ‘What a _coincidence_ , right?!’ 

Jemma spots Antoine Triplett, another member of Fitz’s team, over by the bar absolutely pissing himself at this turn of events, and she can’t help but crack a grin herself. When he sees her looking, he makes sure to catch her eye before winking.

She really does like Trip.

‘The two of you, ah. Know each other?’ the older guy with Fitz asks, looking wary.

‘Know?’ Bobbi loops an arm over Fitz’s shoulders. ‘This here’s my kid brother! I practically raised the guy.’

Jemma’s eyes widen.

_Oh my **God.**_

‘He’s your brother?’ the man asks, clearly confused. ‘But… he’s _Scottish_.’

Bobbi laughs good-naturedly, pinning him with a charming look. ‘Yeah, we just let him do his own thing, you know? Always was a little weird, but I love him anyway because hey! That’s family. Leo agrees, don’t you Leo?’

 _Leo_ is looking like being swallowed by the floor would be the preferable endpoint to this conversation. It’s a bad judgement call on his part – Jemma knows from experience that the sight will only spur Bobbi on even more. 

She’s not wrong.

‘Aw, now he’s all shy. Such a sweetheart,’ Bobbi says to the guy, her expression conspiratorial. She hooks an arm around Fitz’s neck, bringing him into what is a visibly reluctant hug on his part. ‘C’mere, you.’ 

Whatever he says to that is muffled, on account of his face being pushed into Bobbi’s chest. Jemma raises an approving eyebrow.

(All things considered, there are _far_ worse places in which to find yourself.)

Then, she spots Mack lurking in the background, face shuttered and eyes scanning the room thoughtfully. Her spine stiffens at the sight, and as she watches him duck back out of the room, she feels the humour run from the situation.

Right.

Work.

She continues wandering the room, smiling and exchanging distracted pleasantries with various guests, but her mind is racing. Mack doesn’t often take jobs with the other team, so seeing him here has thrown her off a little. Is it possible that they’re actually _not_ going for the cipher? Is there something more sinister occurring right under their noses?

Is it _his_ trap?

_What’s your play, Mack?_

‘Skye,’ Jemma murmurs. ‘Is there any way you might be able to tap into – ’

‘Their comms? Waaay ahead of you.’ 

Quickly surveying the room in yet another fruitless search for the Von Strucker kid, Jemma’s eyes land once again on Trip over by the bar. An idea begins to formulate, turning over and over in her mind, and she almost grins as it slots into place. After all, it would suit them both to have the appearance of being in a conversation as they talk into their comms – not to mention it would keep them out of unwanted shmoozey conversations. Really, it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Decided, Jemma saunters over and situates herself against the bar, leaning back on one elbow as she fans her face exaggeratedly with the other hand. All she needs to do is await his advance. 

He doesn’t leave her hanging for long.

‘Hey, girl.’

Quirking a brow, Jemma watches on demurely as Trip approaches. She makes sure to give him a deliberate onceover. ‘Mm, hello there.’ 

‘Now, what’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone on a night like this?’ 

‘Looking for a sharp-dressed man such as yourself, I’m sure,’ she answers flatly. 

Trip barks out a laugh, grin impossibly wide.

‘Oh, I like you.’

‘Enough to buy me a drink?’

If at all possible, his grin grows wider still. ‘If you play your cards right.’

With a coy smirk, she turns to signal for the bartender.

‘Skye?’ she prompts softly into the comms. 

‘Yeah, I’m just – oh ho _ho._ Hold on.’ There’s the sound of keys tapping again, then one satisfied click. She can practically hear the grin in Skye’s voice when the hacker speaks again.

‘Hey-a Ward.’ 

Jemma’s eyebrows twitch upwards at that development, but otherwise she remains leaning alluringly against the bar, expression carefully arranged to look bored as she keeps an eye out for their mark. 

‘Skye,’ Ward states, tone clipped. ‘Got anything you want to say to me?’ 

‘Uhhhhh…’ her friend draws out, and the sickly sweet sarcasm drips from her voice even over the comms. ‘Nope. Can you give me a hint?’

‘Skye.’ 

‘Oh come on, Ward. Cheer up! No harm, no foul.’ 

‘No –? I had to _flee the country_ because of your little stunt _._ ’

Kara’s laughing now, and Jemma can only imagine the shit-eating grin that’s surely on Skye’s face.

‘Pfft. Big deal. Isn’t that, like, a regular Tuesday for you?’ 

Tuning them out, Jemma lets the – well, probably _too_ familiar sounds of Skye messing with Grant Ward filter across the line as she thinks. It’s admittedly been a while since she heard it, but you never quite forget it, really. She watches as Bobbi throws her head back and laughs at something, arm still slung possessively over Fitz’s shoulders, and it’s clear he won’t be budging from _that_ particular situation for a while.

But still no sign of the Von Strucker kid. Nor of Mack.

Damn.

‘And how are you even doing this?’ Ward’s asking when Jemma tunes back in.

‘Doing what, Ed-Ward-o?’

‘Skye.’

‘Hacked your comms, obvi.’

‘Well, turn it off.’

Skye snorts. ‘ _So_ not happening, GI Joe.’

‘Hunter!’ Ward barks. ‘What the fuck are you doing? Block them out.’

There’s a stunned silence as everyone absorbs the reality of that. Jemma feels a grin spread across her face, even as Skye starts in on her exaggerated guffawing.

‘ _Please_ don’t tell me Lance Hunter is still your tech guy.’

Ward’s embarrassed silence says it all, really. Jemma raises a hand to her mouth to cover her giggles.

‘Hey, I’m a great hacker!’ Hunter pipes up defensively, a whine to his voice. ‘You’re just bloody jealous, aren’t you? And don’t think I can’t see you sniggering away there, Princess. I’ve got my eyes on you.’

_Oh really?_

Turning to the security camera, Jemma subtly gives him the two-fingered salute.

( _Princess_. What an arse.) 

‘Yeesh. Bit feral that one, isn’t she?’ 

‘Hey!’ Bobbi warns – quickly smiling at her conversation partner to cover it up – at the same time that Kara growls, ‘Whoa.’ 

‘Call her that again and you’ll find we have that in common,’ Skye replies sweetly.

Lance splutters. ‘Jesus. Is everyone listening in?’

‘Yep,’ Skye says, popping the _p_.

‘Even… May?’ he asks fearfully. 

‘Hunter,’ May says, voice brusque and deadly, but Jemma can hear the smirk contained in the one word. She finds herself smirking along too.

‘ _Fuck_.’ 

‘Tragically, Hunter comes without a mute button,’ Ward sighs. 

‘What the hell, man? Whose bloody side are you on?’ 

‘Yours if you can reverse the hack, but clearly – ’

‘Oh lay off, that’s not _his_ fault! I’m just too good for him. Don’t talk bullshit, Ward.’

‘Yeah! About that!’ Kara cuts in, false enthusiasm in her voice. ‘Can you maybe shut them up? Trying to concentrate here.’

‘I agree,’ Jemma mutters. ‘Forget I ever asked for this. Utterly useless.’ 

‘You won’t be calling us that once we get the cipher,’ Hunter brags. Jemma bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Ward just sighs again.

‘Riiight,’ Skye drawls. ‘Anyways. Cutting them off?’

‘Cut ‘em.’

‘Yep.’

‘Do it.’

‘The Council hath spoken,’ she announces. ‘Smell ya later, guys.’ 

She clicks a few keys and then the guys are gone, their complaints blessedly silenced. Then:

‘So. They’re definitely going for the cipher.’

‘Maybe that’s just what they want us to think.’ 

Bobbi scoffs.

‘Bob’s right. It’s _Hunter._ They’re getting the cipher.’

‘Agreed. How’s the lock going, Kara?’

She makes a frustrated little grunting sound. ‘Getting there. You know what would help?’

‘Oh, not the bloody dog again.’ 

‘Hey, it’s a great idea!’ she defends. 

Bobbi makes a weird noise, and Jemma looks across to see her with her arm still slung over Fitz’s shoulders, steering him away from that conversation. ‘Kar, we’re still recovering from your last good idea.’ 

‘What? That was a great idea too.’ 

‘It caused three small fires, Kar. Three.’ 

‘Well sure, but did anyone die?’ 

Still no sight of Baby Von Strucker. Trying to be fashionably late, perhaps? Jemma wrinkles her nose in distaste, taking a dainty sip of her champagne.

_Youths._

‘Yeah, didn’t think so.’

‘Ugh,’ Skye groans, typing more rapidly. ‘Hunter worked out how I switched the footage. I’m gonna have to keep switching him out.’ 

‘You can do that, right?’

She scoffs. _‘Please.’_

There’s silence for another few moments, until:

‘Look, all I’m saying is that if we could train a dog – ’

‘ – Palamas, seriously – ’

‘ – to pick locks then we’d have it made! We’d have a dog, for starters, which would shut Skye up.’

‘You got me there.’

‘And we’d have a mascot, too. _And_ he’d be a criminal mastermind. Where’s the catch?’

‘Seriously?’ 

‘There _is_ no catch, Kara, is the response you’re looking for here. You’re a genius, Kara. Thank you, Kara.’ 

‘Right, well if you’ve had enough of jerking off to how fucking great you are, then – ’

 _‘Fuck,’_ Bobbi swears suddenly. Everyone falls silent, instantly on high alert. Jemma quickly scans the room for her blonde friend, unable to spot her – troubling, given her height – and Fitz is noticeably absent as well.

‘Bobbi?’

‘Ah, yeah. We got a problem.’

‘What is it?’ May asks sharply.

‘Fuck.’

_‘Bobbi.’_

‘Bakshi’s here,’ Bobbi hisses. 

Jemma’s blood runs cold. 

‘Where?’ Kara asks – demands, really. ‘I’m going to take him out.’

‘Not yet.’

‘Why the fuck not?’ Kara growls. ‘May, come on. You _know_ what that piece of shit can do. What he’s done.’

‘We need the cipher. Stick to the plan.’ 

‘But Jemma – ’ 

‘Can handle herself, and Bobbi’s there. Go. Skye.’

‘Yo.’

‘Find out why he’s here.’

‘Can do.’

‘Morse, you got eyes on him?’

‘Yeah. I’m going to see if I can head him off.’ 

‘Thanks,’ Jemma murmurs, focusing intently to keep the tendrils of anxiety from showing in her posture. She mustn’t have been fully successful, since she catches Trip eying her in concern.

‘You good?’ he asks, his voice level and conversational. She smiles wanly at him.

‘Yeah. Just... a dissatisfied customer, shall we say. It’s under control,’ she adds.

He shifts on the spot, taking a mouthful of his drink before answering. ‘Don’t sweat it. I got your back.’ 

She looks a question at him. He just shrugs.

‘Not a fan of these dirtbags myself.’

‘Shit,’ Bobbi swears. ‘He’s headed your way. Sorry Jems.’

 _Great._  

‘It’s fine.’ 

And then suddenly, there he is – the man himself, in all his creepy glory. Unsurprisingly, he’s being followed by a group of suited-up lackeys, and they quickly surround Jemma and Trip at the bar.

Brilliant.

‘Miss Jemma,’ he grits out.

 _That’s_ doctor _to you, you prick_.

She subtly adjusts her cleavage, trains her face into an expression of unabashed delight, and then turns to face him more fully.

‘Ah! Sunil! What a lovely surprise.’

‘Don’t play coy with me, girl.’

Blinking owlishly, she tilts her head. ‘I’m sorry?’ 

‘Just sit tight, Jem,’ Kara’s saying. ‘We’re working it out.’

‘I’m on it,’ Skye promises. 

But Jemma just shakes her head in confusion, eyes wide and heartbroken. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand. Did you not enjoy our night together?’

‘Oh, I really quite enjoyed what I remember of it,’ he damn near growls in response.

Jemma bites her lower lip.

The opening is there.

It’s –

It’s right there.

There’s absolutely nothing good that can come of her just going for it. She knows this. She understands it perfectly. And yet:

‘ _Really._ See, personally _I_ found it unforgettable.’

(The defeated sigh that filters down the comms can only belong to Melinda May.)

‘I fucking love you,’ Skye declares.

Bakshi is understandably less than amused. He leans closer, assaulting Jemma with the rank stench of his breath, and it’s clear that he’s trying to intimidate by the way he towers over her. So Jemma only stands her ground, raising her chin and meeting his eyes defiantly. The disbelief flashes across his face, and he looks more furious than ever.

‘I wonder, if you will find tonight just as unforgettable,’ he grits out.

‘Looking for a repeat performance, are we?’ she asks him sweetly. He smiles – if you could even call it that – with his mouth closed.

‘You are testing my patience.’

Then, with a simple flick of his hand, his henchmen close in and Jemma feels the all-too-familiar sensation of a gun being pressed into her back. Across from her, Trip’s receiving the same treatment – much to his dismay.

‘Aw, come on, man.’

‘Oh, will he be joining us tonight too?’ Jemma asks, a saucy expression overtaking her features. ‘ _Sunil_. I didn’t know you had it in you.’ 

He just sneers back at her.

Huh. Why did that not bother him more? 

‘Keep your head,’ May’s saying. ‘Jemma, we’ll come after you. Just keep your head. You can do this.’

Jemma could just about roll her eyes. _Obviously_ she already knows that. She’s done this countless times before.

(Well. Not countless. She is rather good at her job, after all.)

‘’S fine,’ Jemma says – or she tries to, anyway. She blinks, confused. Her words are… strangely slurred? And her mind’s gone all –

Oh.

Ohhhh, that _bastard_.

He’s fucking drugged her. 

Tilting her head, she glares up at Bakshi in accusation.

‘You…?’

But he only sneers back at her, so she thinks back over everyone who’s been anywhere near them or – 

The bartender.

Mother _fucker._  

Skye seems to have just realised. ‘Oh _shit._ May, they’ve given her something.’ 

May says something to that. Maybe. It’s hard to tell. Actually, maybe it was Bakshi talking? No, that doesn’t really make sense. His mouth isn’t budging from that gross sneer of his.

Ugh. Revolting.

It’s swirling now, though. Shimmering in pretty streaks, getting kind of foggy. Fading away. So that’s nice. Bit of a break from staring at that for a while, which is all she could really ask for, right? 

Blargh, she feels sick. Is she going to be sick? Maybe. Probably. As long as she can keep it off this dress. It was _expensive_ , damn it.

‘Jemma. _Jemma._ ’

Blinking, she cocks her head to the other side. Trip’s still here, regarding her with really open worry, which is nice. Comforting. He said he had her back, and he’d definitely had a chance to get out of this earlier, with bribery or force or. Something. But he’s still here. 

Trip’s pretty great. 

People are saying things over comms too, she thinks, perhaps, but that’s a little harder to make out.

(Holy _shit_ , this stuff’s strong.)

No. No, okay, yuck, no, she’s out. She’s going. Jemma out.

‘Oh, _fuck_ me,’ she cusses in disgust, and then everything turns black.

 

 

-

-

 

 

Jemma’s only just regaining consciousness, her eyes labouring to open against the sudden onslaught of light, when a fist connects with her cheek – _hard,_ pain instantly reverberating through her face. The sickening crack sounds deafening in the quiet of the room.

_What the **fuck** –_

She groans loudly, taking the opportunity afforded her to take stock of the situation. Without even opening her eyes, she can tell that she’s tied to a chair – hands behind her back, feet bound to the chair legs – and that the room is surprisingly bright, given the bleak purpose that it’s currently serving. A welcome change, really. She’s also remarkably clearheaded, which is nice – a little groggy, sure, but nothing hindering her general functions. 

Figures. The pissweak lech went down with such a light dosage himself, and now he’s gone and given her something just as ineffectual. Only, unlike him, she can actually stomach it.

Cocky prick.

Opening her eyes, she smirks wickedly at the ground. 

‘Further addling a drugged person by giving them a head injury. Not the sharpest tools in the shed, are we?’ 

Actually, the more she thinks about it, the more offended she becomes. Fucking amateurs, honestly. They’re a disgrace to the profession. Did they just let her pass out by the bar in the ballroom, clearly visible? How many witnesses were present?

Fucking _amateurs._

‘Just thought I’d give taste of your own medicine, doctor,’ comes Bakshi’s voice from across the room. Jemma crinkles her nose in disgust and finally looks up at him.

‘ _Ugh._ Now that’s just insulting, isn’t it? Everybody knows that I have a signature.’ Something flickers across his face – realisation, perhaps – and Jemma’s lips curve upwards into a vicious sneer.

 _Got him._

‘Or did you think that the aftertaste was purely incidental, Mr. Bakshi?’

Someone hits her in the face. Again. She spits out a mouthful of blood before looking back up at him, trying her best to grin through the pain. It probably comes off as more of a grimace, but as far as she’s concerned, that’s just as good. 

As long as she’s baring her teeth.

Weirdly enough, she recognises the room they’re in from the hotel plans May made them study – one of those conference rooms you can hire out for the day. There are very few guards, which is interesting. Trip’s strapped to a chair in the opposite corner of the room, but he seems relatively untouched, for which she’s grateful. She’d hate to be responsible for causing him pain. Or – well, more pain, she supposes. It’s sort of her fault he’s here in the first place.

_Making friends everywhere you go, Jemma. Great job._

She sniffs then, only noticing after the fact that there’s something warm running from her nose. Ugh. Nosebleed.

Wait.

Oh no.

_No no no no –_

Bracing herself, she glances down, and – she was right. There’s blood splattered all over her dress. Anger sparks in her chest. 

_That’s Elie Saab, you monsters._

Bakshi stalks slowly over to her, his yes-men backing off, so she pushes the dress situation from her mind for the time being.

(Reluctantly.)

‘I have a job offer for you, Dr. Simmons.’

_Shit._

He shouldn’t know her real surname. He shouldn’t have that information.

_How did he…?_

Swallowing down the flare of panic, Jemma only makes her grin toothier, more caustic.

‘You picked one hell of a way to go about asking,’ she bites out.

He steps closer still, enough to make her feel crowded with the way she’s restrained. She has to crane her neck to meet his eye.

‘Allow me to rephrase: it’s not an offer, but a demand. You _will_ accept this job.’

It hits her, then.

_The trap was for **me.**_

Jemma simply stares him down for the longest time before gesturing at him with her chin. ‘Well alright then, let’s hear it.’

‘My employer requires your services with designing and cultivating toxins.’

She blinks.

‘That’s it?’

Bakshi spreads his hands. ‘What more did you expect?’

‘Um, perhaps an actual pitch? Good _God_ , could this be any more insulting?’ He seems taken aback, the humoured expression falling from his face. Jemma rolls her eyes. ‘That was a no, in case you missed it,’ she adds.

‘Your compliance would, of course, be rewarded.’

‘Good thing I don’t much care for rewards then.’

The cruel smile returns to his lips. ‘I think you’ll find we have methods of, shall we say, _persuasion_.’ 

 _Ugh. Spare me._  

‘Well, I think _you’ll_ find that I don’t, shall we say, care.’

(Man, she is just _killing_ it today. Pity no one else is around. She’ll have to tell them all about it later.)

Bakshi tilts his head then, watching her carefully for a few moments. His grin broadens. 

‘Ah, but can sweet little Melissa Argrave say the same?’

No.

Jemma’s expression morphs into one of horror, waves of disbelief and white-hot _fear_ crashing over her.

_No._

There’s… no, they couldn’t know. They _couldn’t_. It was all erased.

There’s no way.

She feels nauseous. She’s going to be sick.

(Because nobody knows about Missy except her. Her and May.

Nobody.)

_How could they…?_

‘Ah, so there _is_ a limit to your wit,’ Bakshi crows, gleeful. But she’s furiousnow, the rage seeming to bubble up and flow from her in gusts, and she’s so utterly done with playing his stupid game here. 

‘Oh, go fuck yourself.’

He arches an eyebrow. ‘Since _you_ wouldn’t do it.’

She spits in his face. 

‘Not even in your wildest dreams, you sick fuck.’ 

Reaching into his jacket pocket and unfolding a handkerchief, Bakshi takes his time in wiping off his face. That gross sneer of his returns.

‘Give it time. I’m sure you’ll come around. After all: we have a long night ahead of us.’

Her mind whirring, Jemma tears her gaze away to stare at the ground and think this through.

Alright. So he knows the name. It shouldn’t be possible, but he does. But even though he has _that_ piece of information – even if it turns out he has the whole story – there’s no way to trace it back to… no one can get hurt from this. Surely no one can get hurt. All roads lead back to her, and only her.

Only her. Only personal blackmail, personal exposure.

The others are still safe from this.

She takes a deep, calming breath.

Alright then. Easily solved. 

It’s only her.

There’s a knock at the door then, a guard asking for Bakshi, and Jemma just sort of glances up absently but she’s instantly glad that she did. Because the guard has a slight, petite build and an utterly unremarkable face, but she’s smirking. Only slightly, but it’s there.

And Jemma would be able to pick that smirk from anywhere.

Kara. 

She must be wearing the morph mask.

The team’s coming to break her out. 

 _Well. It’s about time._  

As soon as Kara gets Bakshi to leave with her, Jemma grabs Trip’s attention.

‘You good?’ he asks straight away.

Oh. That’s awfully sweet of him. He’s been very good about this – as far as she can tell, he only came along to make sure nothing awful happened to her while she was unconscious. 

He’s a good man.

‘Yes. You?’

‘Yeah, they barely touched me. Guessing I’m next.’ 

Jemma chuckles darkly, ignoring what the motion does to the blood trickling from her nose. 

‘Trust me, it’s under control. You’ve got nothing to worry about.’ She chews on her (bloodied) lip for a moment, hesitating. ‘Trip?’ 

‘Yeah?’ 

‘That name he mentioned before? Forget it.’

He’s instantly suspicious. ‘Why?’

She can only shake her head, suddenly feeling that much more urgent about it.

‘Trip, trust me. No good can come of it.’

He still looks confused, sweat beading above his eyes. Jemma feels her desperation ratchet up another notch.

‘Trip, _please,_ ’ she implores with wide eyes. _Please don’t make me explain myself. Not this._

Finally, he sighs and concedes. 

‘Yeah, alright. Alright.’ Jutting out his chin, his critical gaze roams her for a moment. ‘You sure you’re going to be okay?’

‘Mmhmm,’ she assures him, nodding enthusiastically. Trip raises both of his eyebrows. 

‘You’re a surprisingly bad liar, Jemma.’ 

She shrugs, nonchalant. ‘I like to think I make it work for me.’

He grins. ‘ _Yeah_ you do.’ 

They’re interrupted by a burst of yells outside the door, followed immediately by a couple of harsh thumps. Then Bobbi Morse herself bursts into the room, still in heels and the stunning blue gown, and wastes no time in taking out the few remaining guards. 

Blowing some hair out of her eyes, she turns to smirk at the two of them.

‘You kids had enough bondage for one night?’

 

 

-

-

 

 

Once she’s out in the clean, white hallways of the place, jogging barefooted behind Trip and Bobbi with her heels in her hand, Jemma gives herself a mental pep talk. Or, well. She attempts to, anyway.

This is fine. It’s _fine._ It happens all the time. Your cover’s blown, so you get out, lay low for a while. It dies down. You come back.

It happens all the time. 

Just… not to her.

Not since…

She shakes her head.

Not to her.

But it is! It’s happening. The sooner she can accept that, the better.

‘Looks like you’re on the lam again, Tiny Pants,’ Trip says after a while, breaking the silence. She looks up at him ruefully. 

‘Looks like.’

He comes to a stop suddenly, causing Jemma and Bobbi to stop too, and glances around at the surrounding corridors. ‘Oh, shit. Hey, I gotta split now, but you take care of yourself out there, yeah? Not everyone’s as nice as me.’ 

Jemma reaches out to touch his arm. 

‘Thank you, Trip. Truly. You didn’t have to… thank you.’

He just shrugs, offering her another of his brilliant, winning grins. ‘Like I said: I got your back. You had mine too.’

‘Stay safe, Trip.’ 

‘Will do. Bobbi,’ he says by way of goodbye, nodding at her. He turns and jogs off towards a different corridor, but just as he reaches the end of the hallway, he turns and gives them a little salute. A laugh at her lips, Jemma returns it. 

And then, he’s gone. 

‘Can you believe a guy that good keeps the company of _Lance Hunter_?’ Bobbi asks in disbelief, urging them onwards again at a rapid pace. Jemma grins. 

‘Hard to believe, isn’t it? Did we get the cipher?’

‘Sure did. Kara did her bit and then came here to help while May grabbed it.’ 

Jemma frowns. ‘Wait. Who distracted the Von Strucker kid then?’

‘Well...’

‘Oh, _Bobbi_.’ 

Bobbi cringes. ‘Yeah. And you’re welcome, by the way. Handsy little shit. Got Bambi kicked out too though, so that was a bonus.’ 

She can’t help but laugh at the mental image of Fitz being thrown out of a function – on account of Bobbi being all over him, of all things. Incredible. The motion pulls at her split cheek though, the flesh still sore from her ordeal, so she brings herself up short.

‘Wait – how did you knock him out? Von Strucker, I mean.’

Bobbi only smirks, fiddling with her hair for a moment, then pulls her hand away to reveal –

 _Ohh._   _Nice._

She must’ve grabbed one of Jemma’s poisonous hair pins for back up while they were getting ready.

‘Careful! You’ll put me out of a job,’ Jemma accuses playfully. In retrospect, she realises she’s only really half-joking. She _will_ be gone for quite some time, after all.

Well. That’s a fun thought.

‘Not much chance of that,’ Bobbi’s saying. ‘You weren’t kidding about how strong they were, either. Think I might’ve stabbed him a bit too hard, given that…’

She trails off, stopping dead in her tracks. Jemma doesn’t register it in time and ends up running straight into her back.

What…?

Craning her neck to see around Bobbi, Jemma looks to see that – 

 _Oh, shit._

Up ahead of them, Bakshi strides confidently down the corridor flanked by several guards.

He looks _livid._

‘Jemma,’ Bobbi says calmly. ‘Hand me your shoes, would you?’ 

She doesn’t need to be told twice.

‘Thanks.’

Then, all hell breaks loose.

Bobbi springs into action as the guards approach, all of the bulky men converging on her as they (correctly) identify her as the biggest threat. She’s a blur of blonde hair and blue silk, using the shoes expertly like some sort of weapon as she easily dispatches them, blocking their attacks and launching a brutal assault of her own. 

The pack clears, and suddenly Bakshi has a clear path to Jemma. He grins. 

She grins right back. 

With a growl, he lunges forward and grabs for her, but Jemma’s been thinking about this ever since he started in on his boring stocks talk during the heist last week. Even before that, actually – ever since Venice.

Ever since Kara.

(And besides. He ruined her favourite dress.)

His brute strength is no match for her natural agility, her simmering rage, and she easily sidesteps him, shoving him to the ground with his own momentum. He hits the floor hard, even as Bobbi finishes up with the rest of the guards behind them. 

‘Jems, do you need me to -?’

‘ – I’ve got this one,’ she replies coolly, not taking her eyes off of Bakshi’s now cowering form. She reaches up to her meticulous up-do, locating the two pins holding it all in place and carefully removing them. Shaking her hair out into a messy halo, she grins wickedly down at him, all predatory intent.

‘Mr. Bakshi. You can inform your employers that my final answer is “no deal,”’ she spits out. But to her surprise, Bakshi starts laughing.

‘Stupid, foolish little girl. You truly think you can escape them so easily? They will stop at _nothing_ to get what they want.’

Jemma allows exaggerated surprise to wash over her face – eyes widening, mouth dropping open prettily. She places a hand over her chest.

‘And they want _me?_ ’ she asks, gasping in surprise. Her voice grows deadly. ‘Well, they’d better get in line.’

Both pins in the one hand, she slashes at him – not too hard, well-versed as she is in her own strength. The pins only just scratch the surface of the hands fending her off, but Jemma knows that’s all it takes, and it’s this delicate touch that fells him. Poetic, in a way.

He flops to the ground with a bluish tinge around his eyes. Disgusted, she turns away. 

That ought to slow him down.

Bobbi clears her throat.

‘That was nice, just now. Very Buffy.’ The comment effectively shatters the gravity of the moment; Jemma’s grateful for it, beaming across at her friend with eyes alight.

‘Oh, I’ve been on fire all day, Morse. You’re only just catching up.’ 

‘Tragic. Hey, speaking of catching up, we were meant to be at the rendezvous point…’ Bobbi checks her watch. ‘Ah. Now, actually.’ 

‘Shoot,’ Jemma says, accepting her shoes back from the other woman. She tries not to think too hard about the stains now marring the stilettos. 

(If she could just go _one job_ without ruining her damn shoes…)

‘Hey, Bobbi?’

Bobbi shoves her ahead as they take off at a run again. 

‘Yeah?’ 

‘Thanks for being the muscle.’

Bobbi laughs. ‘For you, Jems? Always.’

‘Aw, my hero,’ Jemma coos with a grin, and as they make their way out the back entrance of the hotel, she tries not to think about what’s to come.

(She’s not particularly successful.)

 

 

-

-

 

 

The service lot is, as planned, completely empty save for Bobbi’s stowed Harley. Which is nice, really; finally something goes right for them. What a horrendous night.

So as soon as they emerge from the backdoor, they break into a run again…

And come face-to-face with Fitz.

‘Ah!’ Jemma squeaks, a touch startled. But then Bobbi’s instantly in front of her, holding up a placating hand at Fitz, and Jemma crinkles her nose at the action. 

_What the hell happened when I was out?_

‘Hey, hey, hey! Back it up a bit there, Bambi,’ Bobbi tells him. A little weirded out now, Jemma rolls her eyes and pushes past her friend.

‘Just go and get the bike,’ she instructs. Bobbi glances at her in assessment.

‘You sure?’ 

Jemma frowns. _What?_  

‘Um. Yes?’

‘Alright then. Make it quick.’

That… what?

 _Later,_ she promises herself. She turns instead to Fitz, expression accusing.

‘What on earth are you doing out here?’ He’s shaking a little, fidgeting with his hands, and Jemma doesn’t really know what to make of it.

‘Well, obviously I’m just trying to make sure – for all I know something could’ve – you could’ve been killed.’ 

Jemma blinks, strangely touched by the gesture. She almost feels guilty, in fact _._ Or at least she does, until a rush of suspicion washes the warmth away. 

She narrows her eyes.

‘You _really_ didn’t have to do this, Fitz. I don’t need you to… to check up on me, or anything.’ She folds her arms across her chest.

‘I do have to,’ he argues. Eyes widening at himself, he hurries to cover. ‘Or-or what? Just let you run amok while you get the upper hand? Don’t think so.’

_Ohhh._

As comprehension dawns, Jemma finds herself grinning rather impishly.

‘Oh, I see! I _see_. You’re worried you’ll lose your competition. How sweet.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Just forget I said anything.’

‘No, Fitz!’ she coos, patting at his bicep condescendingly. He wrenches his arm away. ‘It’s really terribly sweet of you.’

‘Piss off.’

‘I’m touched.’

‘Don’t be.’

A car pulls up into the lot, clearly his ride out of the place, and it gives her an idea. Her smile deepening, she steps closer to him.

_Call it a parting gift._

‘In fact…’ she drawls. She can see from his face that he’s realised what she’s about to do, the sheer amount of shit he’s about to cop from the rest of his team. The expression is truly glorious. She almost doesn’t want to disrupt it.

Almost.

‘You wouldn’t fucking dare – _mmph_.’

Her lips on his are cruel, unforgiving; her hands hold him to her with fistfuls of his shirt. There are frustrated groans sounding from the car somewhere behind them, and Jemma smirks into his mouth at the noise. But then Fitz’s hands come up to her waist as he angles his head, deepening the kiss, and the other guys start getting more vocal with their protests.

‘Oh come on!’ 

‘Fitz! What the fuck?’ 

‘You have got to be kidding me.’ 

Wresting back control of the kiss for a few more seconds – just to make a point to him, more than anything else – Jemma nips his lower lip before tearing her mouth away, pinning him with a heady look. On her tiptoes as she is, she leans closer still and tugs on his earlobe none too gently with her teeth, releasing it to dart her tongue out against his jaw. 

His whimper makes her smirk, and she’s still smirking as she presses her lips to the shell of his ear. 

‘Until next time, Fitzy,’ she whispers.

Then, dropping back down so that she’s flatfooted again, Jemma turns and flounces away towards the waiting Harley.

She doesn’t look back. She doesn’t need to.

When she passes by their car, Lance’s face is a fun combination of disgusted and offended, so she blows him a kiss and aims a sultry look in his direction. Ward just sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

‘Will you _please_ just get in the damn car, Fitz?’

‘Uh, ye-yeah,’ he stammers, pissed off as he is, and hurries over to throw himself into the shitty old sedan.

_Ugh. What a tacky getaway vehicle._

‘Nice exit,’ Bobbi tells her when she approaches, passing her a helmet as she swings a leg over the bike and seats herself up behind Bobbi. While she puts it on, Bobbi holds out a fist for her to bump. Jemma reciprocates with a grin.

‘Got to give them something to hold onto in my absence,’ she states primly, smugness radiating off her. Bobbi laughs, kicking the Harley into life, while Jemma presses in closer to Bobbi’s back and snakes her arms around the blonde’s waist.

‘Damn right you do. Hey, my pistol’s strapped to my ankle, if you can reach.’

Raising her eyebrows at the improbable logistics _– have you_ seen _your legs lately? –_ Jemma has a go anyway. She ends up pretty thoroughly draped across Bobbi’s body, half-wrapped around her, and it takes a while to bunch up the silky fabric of her dress but eventually she manages to get at the holster, shaking the pistol free.

(And definitely not letting her hand linger at the other woman’s ankle. Definitely not.)

‘Think you can shoot straight?’ Bobbi asks, winking at her. With a smirk, Jemma thumbs the safety off.

‘Well, there’s got to be _something_ straight about me, hasn’t there?’

It’s to the sound of Bobbi’s melodic laughter that Jemma fires off two neat shots at the back tyres of the guys’ car, hitting each one with deadly precision. The guys start yelling obscenities almost immediately.

‘Go, go, go!’ Jemma calls out, laughing into Bobbi’s neck as she wraps her arms around her waist again. Bobbi sends them careening out of the lot and into traffic. 

They don’t stop laughing for a _very_ long time.

 

 

-

-

 

 

The second they pull into the parking lot that’s doubling as their rendezvous point, Skye runs over to the bike with anxiety clearly written into her futures. Jemma feels another pang of guilt – she knows she’s responsible for putting that look there, that abject worry, and even though she couldn’t really avoid it, she’s still feeling pretty rotten about it.

But Bobbi hasn’t even killed the engine before Skye’s launching herself at Jemma in a clumsy hug; messy and forceful and much like facing down a person-sized hurricane, Jemma imagines.

So, a Skye hug.

(It’s perfect.)

‘Thank God. I was losing my shit,’ she mumbles into Jemma’s hair.

‘Hey,’ Jemma says, gentling her voice. She pulls back and offers a small smile. ‘I’m fine, alright? You don’t have to worry about me.’ 

Skye rolls her eyes. ‘Wow, I’m cured,’ she quips sarcastically, but she looks bashful as Jemma climbs off the bike. Jemma tilts her head in silent question. 

‘Hey, you know I didn’t, uh. Mean any of that stuff earlier.’

Earlier? What…?

Oh. 

_Oh._

The teasing about the bet. 

She’s shaking her head before she even knows it.

‘Oh, no no. Skye. It’s fine, I promise. It was just the bet, right?’

Skye shakes her head, visibly relieved. ‘Right. Yeah. I was just – ’ 

‘You doin’ alright there, Kar?’ Bobbi calls out. Distracted, Jemma looks over to where Kara’s leaning against the van, a stunned expression on her face. She sort of tilts her head and shrugs.

‘Yeah. Just need a moment to deal with the two of you straddling the Harley in ball gowns.’ 

Bobbi barks out a laugh. Despite herself, Jemma grins.

‘Think you’ll live?’

‘Somehow.’

But then May walks over, purpose in her every stride, and Jemma knows that the jovial greetings are over with.

‘What happened?’ May asks, her expression open and etched with concern. Say what you will about the woman – and many have tried – but she genuinely cares for them all. Jemma can only stare back, suddenly overcome with gratitude.

Bobbi steps forward. 

‘They mean business, May. It’s a little more than a blown cover.’ 

May looks across to Bobbi then back at Jemma for an explanation. Jemma just sighs.

( _God_ , how she does not want to open this can of worms again.)

‘They know about Missy,’ she explains.

( _God._ )

May’s demeanour changes before Jemma’s very eyes, switching easily from soft and open to hard and determined. _Protector mode,_ Jemma thinks. 

‘I’ll deal with it,’ May says flatly. 

‘Are you sure? I know they’re very – ’ 

 _‘Jemma.’_ The gaze locked onto Jemma’s is fierce. ‘I said I’ll deal with it.’

‘Okay,’ she whispers.

Satisfied, May turns and heads for the van, rifling around for a few moments before grabbing Jemma’s go-bag and throwing it over to her. Jemma catches it easily and begins to shuck her dress, pulling out a fresh top. Skye’s just looking between the two of them now, frowning in confusion.

‘Hey, am I missing something here? Who’s Missy?’ 

Jemma shakes her head. ‘It’s better that you don’t know, Skye. Trust me.’

Something like recognition sparks behind Skye’s eyes, acceptance settling in.

‘I’ll drive her to the border,’ Bobbi announcess, kicking off her heels and grabbing her own go bag. ‘Then from there...’

‘Yeah,’ Jemma finishes. 

_From there, I’ll be on my own._

She sighs again.

‘So,’ Skye begins, now that everyone else has suddenly – suspiciously, actually – occupied themselves with some other task. ‘Dark past, huh.’ 

‘Yeah, something like that,’ Jemma murmurs, busying herself with pulling on her pants. She twists her lips wryly. ‘Guess you’ll finally find out all about it, following the Hydra lead and all.’

‘Not unless you tell me,’ Skye answers straight away. Jemma looks up, surprised.

‘Skye, you – ’

‘ – I what?’ She steps suddenly closer with her hands held up. ‘No, actually, just don’t even – just don’t. I don’t want to know any of this shit unless you’re the one telling it to me, okay?’

‘But – ’

‘Okay?’ she repeats more firmly, tone brooking no argument, before her expression turns fond. ‘Get that through your thick genius skull.’

Jemma’s breath catches in her throat.

 _God._  

It’s just…

It’s a lot.

‘Thank you,’ she murmurs, hoping her eyes broadcast just how much it means to her. Judging by the look on Skye’s face, her message was received loud and clear.

Hesitating then, Jemma shifts on the spot. Skye went out on a bit of a limb with that assertion, after all; it seems only fair that Jemma repay the favour.

_Oh, to hell with it._

‘I was… going to take you on a holiday with my share.’ 

A slow grin makes its way onto the hacker’s face, growing steadily. ‘Wait, seriously?’ 

‘Seriously,’ Jemma confirms, buoyed by the positive reaction. ‘Was going to be somewhere hot and sunny, too.’ She arches one elegant brow. ‘String bikinis, fruity cocktails. That sort of thing.’

Skye is grinning more fully now. ‘And watch you get burnt to a crisp? Yeah, no thanks.’ 

‘Well, only if you’re there to rub aloe vera on me.’

‘Jemma Simmons!’ Skye accuses loudly, face exaggeratedly scandalised but there’s interest behind her eyes. That’s definitely interest. ‘ _Wow._ That was really fucking gay just now.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Jemma laughs, feeling something giddy loosening in her chest. _Gosh._ Because it’s out there now, isn’t it? It’s out in the open.

But then reality settles in again and the humour seeps away.

‘You’ll come meet me at the usual spot though, right?’

Skye looks offended at the mere _suggestion_ that she wouldn’t. ‘Of course, you dork. Where the hell else would I be?’

‘Somewhere that isn’t our shitty safehouse in the middle of nowhere, perhaps?’ 

‘This is true,’ she concedes, before her expression gentles even more. She steps a little closer. ‘But. It’s more about who’s there with you, right?’

Jemma’s smile is fond and warm, and it feels as though it’s emanating from the very core of her. ‘One month from now.’

‘One month,’ Skye agrees.

‘Less blood-splattered though.’

Skye just shrugs, raising an eyebrow. ‘I’d take it.’

‘Classy.’

‘What can I say? I’m a classy gal.’ 

‘Hey!’ Bobbi calls out from the bike, revving the engine. ‘You two think you’ll finish up in the next couple of weeks? Asking for a friend.’

Jemma cringes. 

‘Sorry Bobbi!’ she yells back, stepping into her boots and quickly zipping up the bag. When she straightens up fully, Skye surprises her by reaching out – slowly, tentatively – and cupping Jemma’s cheek with a gentleness Jemma’s never really seen from her before. She runs her thumb over the injured cheekbone with a featherlight touch that Jemma shouldn’t be able to feel so keenly, she _shouldn’t_ , except it feels like Skye’s touch is being seared into her very skin. Her heart is racing.

Then Skye blinks.

Withdrawing her hand rapidly, she steps back.

‘Be safe,’ she mumbles. 

Jemma can only nod, not trusting herself to speak and downright _refusing_ to break eye contact, until suddenly she’s being swept up in a bone crushing hug from Kara. She just has time to tighten her own arms before the woman is stepping back again, offering her an encouraging look. 

‘Keep it real, English. We’ll sort this out in no time. You’ll see.’

Jemma rewards her with a small smile, still a bit shaken. ‘Thanks, Kara.’

May steps forward, and Jemma’s not really expecting anything more than a nod or some terse words, but May grabs her bicep and squeezes it twice. She meets Jemma’s gaze.

‘You’ve got this.’

‘Thank you.’

Then, taking a shaky breath in ( _it’s fine it’s okay this happens all the time it’s routine it’s fine you’ll be fine it’s fine_ ), Jemma walks over to the Harley and climbs on.

_Oh boy. Here we go._

‘You ready for this?’ Bobbi calls over the roar of the bike. Jemma grimaces.

‘Not at all!’ she answers brightly, refusing to give into the sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She doesn't want this.  _God_ , how she doesn't want this.

But, like so many unpleasant things in life, it happens anyway.

Bobbi puts the bike into drive. Jemma glances over her shoulder, meeting Skye's gaze one last time.

And then they're gone.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Girls by Marina and The Diamonds. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Bonus points if you picked up on the couple of little references to The Newsroom in there. Also the lock-picking dog is like, 99% Juliana's fault.
> 
> Oh, also!! This is very much an AU For The People, so let me know what you want to see!! Obviously I have my own ideas, but if you have specific details/scenarios/tropes/heists you want to see, drop me a line at imperfectlychaotic on tumblr. Or you can just ask for headcanons or something. Either way, that's the place to do it.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!! Hope you had a bit of fun with it, and let me know what you think!!


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